


Cybertron Day

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Orgy, Size Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus is horny, and wants to revive an old Cybertronian custom. Ratchet, Jazz and Skyfire are very happy to oblige.</p><p>Content advice: shameless pwp Autobot orgy; explicit consensual sticky porn with a side order of voyeurism and size kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cybertron Day

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for [this prompt](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/7561.html?thread=7370889#t7370889) over at the kinkmeme on Livejournal.
> 
> I've never managed to write smut with Optimus before, or with Jazz for that matter, and I've only done Skyfire once before (hurhurhur), so this was a bit of an experiment. It was far more fun than I expected ;)

"Ratchet, please, hold still. I need you." Optimus seized his CMO around the hips and knelt in front of him, right in the middle of the Ark's main corridor.

"Optimus, we're in _public_ ," Ratchet hissed, then squeaked in a most un-CMO-like manner as Optimus's mask slid aside and he ran his glossa over Ratchet's rapidly heating panel.

"I don't care," Optimus said. "You wouldn't have cared back on Cybertron."

"Things were different then!" Ratchet cried. He backed up a half step, and the wall caught him in the skidplate. Not that he didn't want Optimus's mouth around his equipment - quite the opposite in fact, and his entire frame tingled for it. It was just the context. "The humans might see; they have all those taboos about interfa-" He froze; his panel had come undone all by itself, and his spike was slowly sliding free. "Oh _slag_..."

"The humans aren’t here," Optimus rumbled, and Ratchet gasped as the Prime took his spike in his mouth. That glossa, the heat, the friction, everything was just too good. Ratchet's head flew back, his helm denting the wall. He groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Optimus's antennae.

"Wow," a new voice intruded. Ratchet recognised Jazz, but only barely. "What's goin' on here, my mech?"

 _I'm about to overload,_ Ratchet thought, but he managed to force out a difference set of words. "What... it looks like," he said, his voice strained beyond belief. "Prime... reliving the... good... old... days. Oh frag!"

"Knew there was somethin' about Cybertron I was missin'," Jazz said.

Ratchet could only nod, his fans on high and his head spinning. He clutched at his leader's helm as the charge rushed through him, the overload building inexorably until Optimus enveloped Ratchet's entire spike in his mouth, the tip hitting the back of Optimus's throat and _oh by PRIMUS_ that was good. Ratchet came loudly, barely able to stand as Optimus licked the transfluid and the lubricant from his hardware.

"My turn?" Jazz suggested, giving them both a grin that Ratchet hadn't seen since the Ark first launched.

"My pleasure," Optimus said, but before Jazz could release his panel, Optimus had vanished into an adjacent office. He returned quickly, carrying a comfortable-looking chair.

"We could always have gone _in_ the office," Ratchet commented, but he knew that wasn't the point. There had been no shame in public interfacing on Cybertron – especially not on this particular day each orbital cycle, when Autobots were encouraged to interface with as many partners as possible – and so there shouldn't be here. Well, when the humans weren't on base, anyway.

"Would you like a seat, Ratchet?" Optimus asked. Jazz's grin grew wider; clearly, he could see where this was going.

"Yes," Ratchet said, but as soon as he was seated, Optimus hooked his arms under Ratchet's knees, raising his legs. Yes, this certainly was going where Ratchet thought it was. He released his valve cover, and moaned as Optimus lapped at the rim of his valve. Over Optimus's shoulder, he could see Jazz stroking his spike and giving Optimus’s aft a deliciously calculating look.

"Please, Jazz!" Optimus groaned, and the vibrations of his voice thrummed through Ratchet's valve and made his sensors sing. Then Jazz got in place behind their leader; he made optical contact with Ratchet, bit his lower lip in a wonderfully seductive way, and thrust forward.

Ratchet had never felt so wanton. His legs spread, Optimus's glossa working in and out of his valve, catching on the nodes and stretching him almost as wide as a spike could. And the vibrations from Jazz as he fucked Optimus hard, his dark hands on Optimus's hips, his blue optics flickering.

And a newcomer watching them. Skyfire; a pile of datapads in his arms, and a slightly bemused expression on his face.

After a while Skyfire smiled, confusion apparently giving way to something else entirely, but he said nothing. Instead, he quietly leaned against the wall, his optics on the scene. Ratchet turned his attention back to Jazz and their Prime, although he felt Skyfire's gaze like a white heat melting through his armour.

"Harder, Jazz!" Optimus moaned, then thrust his glossa deep into Ratchet's valve. Ratchet bucked, wrapping his legs around Optimus's head. Oh frag, if he wasn't about to come a second time...

"Whatever you say!" Jazz cried, and Ratchet could hold back no longer. He bucked again, his back arching, and his valve spiralling down on Optimus's glossa, clutching and pulsing as the overload coursed through him.

Jazz wailed, a dissonant chord as he thrust into Optimus and held himself there, his ventilation stilled and his optics blank. Ratchet knew he was teasing every last joule of pleasure from the interface.

Ratchet would have been perfectly happy to have done the same, if only his systems were quicker to recover. As it was, he knew it’d be a little while before he was ready for another round.

Jazz pulled out, panting hard, and Optimus moaned anew.

“Again?” Optimus asked, flicking out his glossa and giving Ratchet’s over-sensitised equipment a thrill that was a little too much for Ratchet to take.

“Ooooooh, not just yet!” Ratchet unwound his legs. “I’ll watch,” he said, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Skyfire?” Optimus queried. He still knelt on the floor, aft up, with – Ratchet imagined – his glistening, inviting valve on show. Ratchet wasn’t sure Optimus had overloaded from Jazz alone; it had always taken a little extra to finish him off.

"I think I lost track of time," Skyfire responded. "I didn't realise it was Cybertron day." His ailerons twitched, and his smile took on a shy edge. “That is, I mean, I’d be honoured.”

He managed to set the datapads on the floor before Optimus reached him. Ratchet didn’t close his panel, or his legs, but allowed one hand to drift downwards, teasing the end of his spike in its housing. Jazz laughed and sat on the chair between his legs, leaning back against Ratchet’s chest.

“We’re gonna get quite a show,” he said.

“So are they,” Ratchet whispered back, and nodded to a small group of newcomers at the other end of the corridor. He could just make out a yellow flanged helm and a black helm next to it hovering above red shoulders. Then black and red vanished in the direction of the rec room. “Sideswipe knows, and soon so will everyone else,” Ratchet commented, and slid his other arm around Jazz’s waist.

“The more the merrier,” Jazz snickered, and sighed as he guided Ratchet’s hand further down.

That seemed to be Optimus’s opinion too, as he leaned up to kiss Skyfire full on the mouth. Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Optimus locked in an embrace with a flier, but as his fingertips edged past the rim of Jazz’s valve, he thought it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever witnessed.

Then Skyfire lifted Optimus – actually _lifted_ him – and Ratchet’s fans stopped dead.

“However you want me,” Optimus murmured, in response to a question Ratchet hadn’t heard. Skyfire’s fans roared like turbines and his spike looked even better than it had the one time Ratchet had had occasion to view it during maintenance. A very nice spike indeed, and beautifully in proportion with Skyfire’s frame.

But he didn’t enter Optimus immediately, despite the obvious slick readiness of the Prime’s equipment. Instead, he carried Optimus closer to the growing crowd, and pressed him against the wall. Hooking an arm beneath Optimus’s right leg, his other arm supporting his aft, Skyfire tilted him to give those assembled an unrivalled view.

Ratchet sighed and Jazz squirmed, moving himself on Ratchet’s fingers.

“Please!” Optimus gripped Skyfire’s shoulders, his optics blazing and his ventilation coming in quick gasps. “I want you! I want you inside me, please…”

A soft collection of moans and sighs came from the crowd as Skyfire obliged his Prime. He thrust gently at first, and it was clear to Ratchet – as he knew it would be to anyone watching – that this would be a really tight fit. The spike was massive, but Skyfire didn’t force Optimus to accommodate him. Instead, he eased inside, shallow little thrusts slicking his shaft with lubricants and the silver of Jazz’s transfluid, each small movement teasing Optimus open just a little further.

“More!” Optimus howled, and Skyfire pressed closer, deepening his thrusts. He raised Optimus’s leg higher, allowing everyone to see his spike sliding in and out, the ridges making Optimus’s valve contract on every entry.

“What a show,” Jazz mumbled, and reached behind himself, seizing Ratchet’s freshly extended spike. “Could ya do me the favour of doin’ me,” he whispered, and Ratchet obligingly lifted him, lining up their equipment.

It was so good to watch Optimus getting fucked against the wall, held in place by Skyfire, so open and vulnerable. His free leg dangled, his foot nowhere near touching the floor. And to watch that spike delve deep inside their leader as Ratchet’s own vanished into Jazz’s hot, slick valve – he could almost imagine what it was like to take his Prime like that. And perhaps he could later on, maybe with Jazz spiked underneath them, or with Sideswipe, who fidgeted in Ratchet’s peripheral vision, looking horny enough to explode.

Jazz came well before Ratchet thought he would, his valve squeezing Ratchet’s spike in a rhythm to match Skyfire’s thrusts. But Jazz rode him through his overload, fiercely compressing, teasing out the pleasure until Ratchet felt the hot spurt of transfluid escape his spike, just as the current flooded him and the heat threatened to melt his interface circuits.

And still Skyfire pounded Optimus, faster now, picking up a frantic pace which made their armour clang and sparks fly. He seemed oblivious to the soft, needy sounds of the crowd, to Jazz’s happy moans as he came down from his high. Skyfire focused only on Optimus, their optics locked together, their lips touching – briefly – with every few thrusts. Then Optimus tensed, and a moment later so did Skyfire, and they remained locked together, heaving for cool air, the flier’s spike buried deep inside the Prime until their shared climax was over and the silver trickle of fluid escaped Optimus’s full valve to run down his thigh.

“Thankyou,” Optimus whispered, and Skyfire pressed against him one last time. Their kiss lasted long enough for Jazz to start squirming anew between Ratchet’s spread legs. When finally Skyfire withdrew, Optimus leant against the wall, a sated smile on his face. But Ratchet was far from surprised when he turned to the crowd and spoke. “Who’s next?”


End file.
